Take a Hint, Dani Brown (The Brown Sisters #2)(77)

He kissed her, cool mint and desperation.

When he couldn’t get close enough, deep enough, he pushed Dani onto her back and climbed halfway across the table himself. Ignored the way it groaned, and shoved into her hot, wet cunt until he couldn’t see straight. So good, so fucking good. When he thrust against that tender place inside her and she screamed and squeezed around his cock—oh, fuck, he wanted more of that. So he reached between their bodies and rubbed her swollen clit, tight little circles the way she liked, and kept the angle of his hips just right.

“Come on, love,” he panted.

“You can’t—tell me to—”

“Come.”

Her sob of pleasure ripped him open. He felt her pussy spasm around his cock as she climaxed, and then—

And then he came harder than he ever fucking had, which wasn’t exactly surprising, and the table collapsed beneath them, which was.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Dani had been distantly aware of an ominous creaking sound, but in the midst of various emotional revelations—God, I’m in love with Zaf’s voice, and Wow, the way he kisses me slowly while fucking me senseless is life-ruiningly perfect, for example—she hadn’t really paid any attention. She certainly noticed, however, when the sturdy-looking table groaned dramatically and one of its legs gave out.

Luckily for her, she happened to be sleeping with a former athlete who had unholy reflexes. Zaf wrapped an arm around her and dragged them both backward—away from the collapsed table leg and sliding tabletop. They ended up on the floor, him clearly winded, Dani safe and fairly comfortable on his massive chest. His quick movements were especially impressive given he’d only just finished coming, but she was too dazed and confused to offer appropriate praise.

After a long moment of silence, during which Zaf caught his breath and Dani wondered if anything this awkward had ever happened in the history of the world, he finally spoke. His first words were, predictably, “Fuck’s sake.”

Dani had always thought sex became boring and unbearably solemn once you, er, felt things for someone, but that clearly wasn’t true when it came to her feelings for Zaf, because she took one look at his familiar, grumpy scowl and burst out laughing.

“Hey,” he said, but he was grinning. “I blame you for this.”

“Me? You’re the one who put me on the bloody table!”

“And you’re the one who’s so sexy I forgot about, you know, physics and shit.” He ran a hand over her hair, down her spine, all the way to the swell of her arse. Which he then grabbed. “You okay?”

“Is this you checking for damage?”

He winked.

She sighed and pretended she wasn’t utterly thrilled by everything about this. But she was. She always was. Whenever they were together, whenever he touched her, all she could feel was happy.

Ick.

She looked over her shoulder at the drunken, three-legged table leaning against the floor. “Sorry about that. Should we—?”

“The only thing we should do right now,” he said firmly, “is go to bed.”

Dani hesitated, because—We. Bed. Hmm. For more sex, or for something . . . else? Clearly old habits died hard, because despite her best intentions, the idea of spending the night with someone she cared about for the first time in forever made her gut clench with nerves.

But that was silly. She was fearless. She was chasing joy. She shoved her apprehension into a box and tried not to notice that the lid wouldn’t quite lock.

Zaf must have caught her uncertainty, because he helped her to her feet with a solemn expression. “It’s very late, Danika. You can’t go home on your own.”

Laughter chased away the shadows in her chest. “Zaf, it’s barely seven o’clock.”

“You’re talking too much.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to the bedroom.

And she let him.



It was dawn when Dani woke. For a moment, staring blearily across an expanse of deep blue pillow, she wasn’t quite sure where she was. Then, slowly, sensations trickled in: the weight of a heavy thigh slung over her waist. The slow dance of fingertips across the bare skin of her back.

“Zaf,” she whispered into the churchlike silence.

His voice was low and sleep-roughened. “Good morning, Danika.”

The way he said her name, lazy and tender, made her smile into the pillow—but beneath that pleasure, a hint of panic flared. Deciding to be brave and getting swept up in the moment was one thing—but she hadn’t woken up beside another person in years, and she’d never wanted another person in quite the same way she wanted Zaf. Maybe she was overthinking things slightly, but . . . but she wasn’t entirely sure what was supposed to happen next, and fuck, she didn’t want to get anything horribly wrong.

Really, darling? You’re twisting yourself in knots over how to say good morning? The voice in her head sounded oddly like Gigi, and as always, Gigi was right. Dani’s worries were ridiculous. This was why she hated relationship bullshit: it turned her into an uncertain, alien mess.

“Did you sleep okay?” Zaf asked, as if all this was normal—and the sweet familiarity of his voice almost made it so. Almost.

“Yes,” she said, because it was true. “Did you?” The answer seemed to matter more than it should, but then, everything mattered more than it should with Zaf.